


Of Cream Horns and Crosswords

by littleweedwrites



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Johnlock, Fluff, M/M, smutfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6552058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleweedwrites/pseuds/littleweedwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock gets Sunday morning breakfast, John gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Cream Horns and Crosswords

**Author's Note:**

> Please be kind, this is the first time I wrote smut!
> 
> It's cute though or I hope it is!

It’s a lazy Sunday morning and John’s sitting in his armchair, doing the crossword from yesterday’s newspaper. The flat is blessedly quiet this morning as Sherlock slipped out early leaving a post it note on his pillow that said, “Woke early. Bored. Didn’t want to wake you. Stay put, you need sleep, I’ll fetch newspaper.”

John muses that it’s sweet that now, on occasions like this, instead of Sherlock being destructive and shooting holes in the walls of the flat or stomping around he’ll try and distract himself by doing things for John.

It isn’t quiet for much longer as John hears the distinctive footfall of his beloved detective on the stairs. Today though as well as the newspaper John can hear the rustle of a plastic carrier bag.

“What you got?” John turns his head towards Sherlock but the other man has already made it to the kitchen and is picking up the kettle to be filled.

“Breakfast, of course. And you didn’t stay put.” 

“My, you’re feeling domestic this morning. What have you done?” John says, faking suspicion and ignoring Sherlock’s pouting at John being out of bed.

“Nothing. Yet.” The detective replies with a cheeky but throaty laugh.

“Oh, is that right?” John enjoys the easy patter they almost always fall into these days. “Mine’s a coffee this morning. Sounds like I’m going to need it.”

John listens as Sherlock grabs plates, mugs and unwraps whatever is in the bags. And John can hear him rush to the bedroom to change back into his pyjamas and dressing gown whilst the kettle boils. A few minutes later John is presented with a tray containing one cinnamon whirl, a mug of coffee and the current newspaper all arranged very neatly indeed. As Sherlock puts the tray onto the side table that lives next to John’s chair John steals a kiss.

Just a small gentle kiss. Their lips touching, engaging, pressed together for mere seconds that are still electric, wanted, needed, blessed. As Sherlock pulls away with a soppy smile on his face John tousles his curls and murmurs.

“Cute.”

Sherlock quirks an eyebrow and the response comes. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Ya daft sod. Go get your own breakfast and sit down. You’re making the place look untidy… Well untidier?” 

John winks and Sherlock flushes slightly and whirling, strides back to the kitchen returning with his own mug of coffee and a cream horn and sits into the charcoal grey chair opposite John.

John looks up as Sherlock sits. He rolls his eyes.

“Sherlock?” He says pointedly. “I’m not certain cream horns qualify as breakfast food.”

The detective replies without missing a beat. 

“There’s a strawberry.”

“Of course there is.” John smiles, “I just hope it’s not your fruit quota for the day. And now I know what took you so long. The bakery I usually go to doesn’t do cream horns on a Sunday.” 

Sherlock doesn’t respond. He has a mouth full of strawberry.  


A few moments pass in silence as John starts on today’s paper and Sherlock seems to get a bit lost in eating his strawberry. 

“Elsanta.” he says suddenly, when he finally swallows the fruit.

“I’m sorry?” John really has no idea what Sherlock is going on about. 

“It’s a variety of strawberry. The likelihood is that the strawberry was an Elsanta as it’s the most widely grown commercial variety, but I’m pretty certain now that the lady at the bakery grows her own.

“Right…” John still after all this time doesn’t always have a grasp on what’s going through Sherlock’s head. “We really need a case if you’ve started analysing fruit by taste.”

“I like analysing things by taste that are meant to be tasted. It’s more fun that way.” A smile has crept onto the detectives face.

John says nothing, he knows where his love is angling but he can also sense the detective has some sort of plan for the day and wants to see how it pans out. He folds the paper and placing it on the table, starts on his own breakfast watching the other man out of the corner of his eye. 

Sherlock is now looking intently at his cream horn.

“She’s like a precision engineer with pastry. I have no idea how she does it so well, seen as she trained as a cartographer.”

“You can tell that from her pastry?”

“No, she told me, but only when I enquired about how many maps she had on the walls.”

John shakes his head at the utterly random small talk, and watches as Sherlock turns the pointy end of the cream horn towards his mouth and licks it.

“Caramelised cane sugar. That’s the dusting.“

“Should I be making notes?” John replies amused, he has figured out exactly what Sherlock is doing and wonders which of them is going to crack first.

Sherlock doesn’t respond as he’s nibbling the end of his cream horn now, so John tries to concentrate on his breakfast. He looks at the swirl of cinnamon in the pastry. Sherlock’s right. The baker is good, it does look delicious. John takes a bite.

“That’s redcurrant and blueberry jam.“ Sherlock still deducing his breakfast, is now licking the inside of the end of the cream horn and John can feel a tightness building around his crotch. He shifts a little in his chair. 

“Make her own?” He tries to keep the crack out of his voice and succeeds only by virtue of having a mouth full of cinnamon whirl; which quite oddly is making him feel all strange and hot when accompanied by Sherlock tonguing his cream horn. 

The detective is sucking it now, extracting the cream from the inside, and crunching the pastry as he works his way up it. He makes a sort of happy humming buzzing sound which John recognises as pleasure. _Christ,_ John thinks to himself, _Sherlock is good at this._ It shouldn’t suprise him. Sherlock is good at doing what he’s doing when it’s John instead of a cream horn but John doesn’t usually get to watch that from a distance. 

Sherlock has made it halfway up the horn now and he still has the entire girth of the thing in his mouth. John hears himself gasp as Sherlock’s tongue pokes through the cream wriggling. John then knows he’s lost and can’t contain himself any longer. Standing he makes his way over to the detective and hears himself speak. 

“That’s quite enough of that.” He leans over the still seated Sherlock whose eyes go wide and who swiftly crunches down the rest of the pastry swallowing hard to clear his mouth. 

“Is it?” Sherlock queries, his voice low and teasing. His breath smells sweet with cream, and jam, and sugar. 

John leans in for a kiss and somehow the spice of the cinnamon mixed with the milky sweet flavours lingering on Sherlock’s tongue make a shiver go down his spine that arouses him even more. 

“You know it is you bastard.” John murmurs as he momentarily pulls his mouth away then dives in for another harder kiss. He’s pressing Sherlock into the chair now and he can feel his own hard cock pressing through fabric; touching Sherlock’s knee. Then, the sensation of a hand not his own skimming past it, teasing and wresting it from his pyjama shorts.

John pushes his head back away from Sherlock’s now gnawing lips but keeps him pinned into the chair. The curly haired man is eyeing John hungrily and John knows that he now has control of the situation.

“Did you order seconds, my love?”

Sherlock responds by pulling suddenly on John’s hips and with both hands gripping on John’s arse he brings John’s cock a whisker breadth from his gorgeous lips. Blowing on it gently he teases a groan from John, and then flicks his tongue over the tip like a snake sensing the air. He pauses to speak.

“I had you when I started deducing my pastry, didn’t I?” 

“Git.” Is the only word John speaks through now gritted teeth as he feels Sherlock starts to circle his tongue around and then take his hot, stiff penis into his mouth. Sherlock sucks gently at first, then harder, pulling in his cheeks to create a vacuum, and John moans contentedly and leans his shins into the edge of the chair to maintain his balance.

Looking down he can see Sherlock pulling his own glistening wet erection out and shimmying his pyjama trousers down one handed which distracts the doctor momentarily from where the detective’s other hand is.

John is stunned when he becomes aware it’s stopped gripping his arse cheek and is stroking suddenly down the base of his spine and into the crack tickling gently before searching down. Acquiring his target Sherlock deftly slips his little finger into John and leaves the others reaching up stroking the coccyx. Heavy groans now escape from John as he can feel his pleasure rising and his senses becoming distant and floating as well as heightened, burning and crackling all in one strange dichotomy.

He can hear and feel Sherlock’s breathing becoming heavier as the detective works on both shafts and John pushes his own into Sherlock’s mouth marvelling not for the first time how easy it is for Sherlock to take the whole of John’s considerable length.

As this thought hits John’s brain, he can feel the intensity building inside him and he knows he’s going to come soon.

“Harder please sweetie.” His own voice sounds whiney and echoey at the same time as if it’s far down a well.

He feels Sherlock nod an assent and speed up, his head bobbing to keep up the pressure.

All at once John comes and cries out in pleasure, and feels Sherlock swallowing on him; and then seconds later wetness against his thighs as Sherlock shudders his orgasm out. John falls forwards and feels strong arms curl him up into Sherlock’s lap as small satisfied murmurs mumble from both of them.

Sherlock pulls John closer resting the doctor’s head onto his shoulder. And they just sit savouring each other for a few minutes.

“You’re definitely in charge of getting breakfast on Sundays now ya know.” John pipes up when his brain finally reconnects with his mouth.

“Deal.” The sticky, hot detective replies. “But only if you let me help with the crossword. One down is recompense not recommends.”

“Oh you sod.” John replies and kisses his love.


End file.
